“Open, in the name of Eadmund the King.”

And I used his name because, though a Dane might well call in subtlety on the name of Ethelred, none but a Saxon who knew how well loved was the under-king of East Anglia would think of naming him.  And I was right, for at his name the little square wicket in the midst of the gate opened, and through its bars an old monk looked out, and at once I cried to him: 

“Let me in, Father, for the Danes are at my heels.”

He muttered a prayer in a voice that trembled, and let me in, holding the gate fast, and closing and barring it after me.

And all the courtyard was full of terrified men, women, and children, while among them stood the half-dozen monks of the place, pale and silent, listening to the clang of the bell overhead.

When they saw me some of the women shrieked and clung to children or husbands, scared at my arms.  But one of the monks, a tall man on whose breast was a golden cross, came quickly to me, asking:  “Is the sheriff at hand with the levy?”

I told him hastily how that the only hope for these helpless ones was in flight to the woods, urging him until he understood me.  Gathering his monks around him, and rousing the people, he led them to the rearward gate that opened toward the forest land, calling at the same time to his swineherd, who was there, and bidding him take them by the forest tracks to Chichester.

Then he bade his monks go also; but they lingered, asking to be allowed to stay with him, and also what should become of the holy vessels if the heathen laid profane hands on them.

“Obey, as your vows bid you,” said the prior; “I and this warrior will care for the holy things.”

So they went, weeping, and were lost in the woods; for there was little cleared land round the village, and the trees came close to the monastery walls.

Now we two, the monk and I, stood at the open gate for a moment and listened.  We could hear nothing of the Danes as yet.

Then we closed and barred that gate; and all this while the bell had tolled unceasingly, calling as it were for help that came not.

“Now do you go and call the sacristan from the bell,” the prior said, “and bid him lead you to the chancel, where I shall be.”

I went to the tower door, unhesitating, for this man seemed to have a wondrous power of command, so that I obeyed him without question, even as had the villagers.  And even as I went there came the sound of many rushing feet up the street, and yells from Danish throats, while axe blows began to rain on the gate by which I had entered.

Then the prior bade me hold the gate when he heard that, and he spoke quietly and in no terror, turning and calling to the man in the tower himself; while I stood opposite the gate, looking to see it fall with every blow.  Yet it was not so weakly made as that, and moreover I remembered that it was crossed with iron bands in squares so that the axes could not bite it fairly.